


Fireflies At Midnight

by SweetHavok



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, Drama, F/M, Swearing, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetHavok/pseuds/SweetHavok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a hot, sticky night, and you've got the older Winchester brother on your mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireflies At Midnight

You groaned and threw an arm over your eyes. It was late; and as a consequence of living in an older house deep in Louisiana (outside of the parish limits), you had no central AC. You had window units and LOTS of fans, two box fans per room and standing fans in the hallways. It did not help that it was an especially warm Autumn night either. And so there you laid, sweat coating your skin and making everything stick to you: your hair, the thin cotton sheets on your bed, and your faded black Led Zeppelin t-shirt that you wore to bed every night along with some boxer shorts. Grumbling, you threw the covers back and swung yourself out of the wrought-iron bed. The well-worn mattress creaked under your weight and the floorboards groaned.

“Too fuckin’ hot,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes and then ran a hand through your bangs. You stifled a yawn and walked down the hall quietly, glancing at the cracked door two door-ways down. You paused, mid-step, as your heard a shuffling of fabric and then a sigh. You waited, holding your breath, but no other noises came. You sighed silently in relief, then made your way downstairs to the kitchen. You swiftly grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard above your fridge, and poured it over some ice as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way.   
Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay.   
But now it's time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way. 

Taking the bottle and your glass, you walked outside and were greeted with the heavy scent of storms in the distance. The sky kept lighting up purple with flashes of lightning. Somehow, you were soothed. You lifted the glass to your lips and took a greedy gulp of the amber liquid, closing your eyes at the cold burn. Setting the glass and bottle down on the end table beside the porch swing, you grabbed your pack of smokes and tucked a cigarette between your lips. Death sticks, Dean had called them. You always found this ironic, seeing as how your little group had defied death and returned many times over.

"For now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it's headed my way.   
Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do..."

You flicked the zippo, scratched with age, and lit your cigarette with a deep inhale. You stood there a moment, desperately trying to stave off the wave of painful memories that was coming in. You knew it was a losing battle, yet you tried every time. Occasionally, you welcomed the memories, but tonight... tonight was especially hard. The scent of rain was invading your senses, triggering your photographic memory of what proved to be the worst night of your life.

“Hey, Y/N....” Dean Winchester crooned as he came up behind you. You were standing in the kitchen of the bunker, making a spiced apple pie in celebration of having a night off for once. 

“Don’t even think about it Dean!” You warned, turning to glare at him. His freckled face melted into a pout and he batted those green eyes at you. “Nope, not happening. This pie is to be saved until later, when Sam and Cas come back.”

You used your best “stern” voice and nudged Dean away with your shoulder.

“Aw, c’mon sweetheart!” he protested, and you ignored him, turning the radio on. You didn’t notice what song was on, of course, because you were doing anything to shut the elder Winchester up. However, he recognized the beat and lyrics right away. With a big grin, he grabbed your wrists and spun you around, pulling your body tight against his.

“DEAN!” Your eyes widened and you blushed, swatting at his chest. “The pie...”

“Ramble on, And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song... I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl, on my way...” You froze as he started singing along to Led Zeppelin, your eyes staring up into his. He still held you tight, voice low and almost sensual. “I've been this way ten years to the day, Ramble on, gotta find the queen of all my dreams...”

That man’s voice went straight to your core, setting your belly afire with lust. He knew it too, his pupils slowly dilating as he started to sway with you. You hesitated briefly, then relented and slid your arms around his neck.

“You’re fucking incorrigible, Dean Winchester...” you murmured softly, a faint smiled spreading across your lips. He smirked in that smug way of his before pecking your lips with his. Even the slightest touches sent jolts of electricity through your body...

“Got no time to for spreadin' roots, The time has come to be gone. And to' our health we drank a thousand times, it's time to ramble on...” The rest of the song faded into the background as he dipped his head down and molded his mouth against yours. You sighed happily and returned the kiss, sliding your hands up the black shirt he wore under his blue flannel.

A sudden clap of thunder startled you out of your thoughts, and you swore loudly, glaring at the heavens.

“I will come up there and kick your angelic ass, Castiel!” you shouted, only being half-serious. You knew he didn’t control the weather... It had been nearly seven months since you had seen the angel, but he would be coming Earthside soon. He had promised to be here for you this year, since Sam would be unable to make it.

Sighing deeply, you took another drag of your cigarette then washed the ashy taste down with another swig of whiskey. The storms were getting closer, you noticed, and you wondered if you should head inside. You poked your head back into the foyer, and listened intently. Hearing nothing, you relaxed and sat down on the swing. That night that you made the apple pie was the night the magic happened. You and Dean had spent the night wrapped up in each other, arms and legs tangling while your mouths clashed together in passion and desperation. More than once, you had both cried out to the Heavens in pure bliss, and it had actually brought tears to your eyes. You remember Dean teasing you in a loving manner.

If only that happiness could have lasted. It wasn’t but a month later that your entire world came to a screeching halt.

“DEAN!” You screamed shrilly, jerking against the ropes that held you to a chair. “NO!!”

Dean was staring at you sadly as he crumpled to his knees, blood pouring from a wound to his chest. Right as he fell, Cas and Sam showed up. The taller (albeit younger) brother immediately took out his demon blade and ganked the bastard in the meat suit, while Cas went to Dean’s side. He blocked your view of Dean and your anxiety tripled.

“Sammy,” you rasped, throat sore from thirst and screaming. “G-get me out of this...” And thank god he quickly obliged you, because the second you were on your feet, you were staggering over to Dean. You fell to your knees beside Cas, tears streaming down your face. 

“Is he...” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, but everyone knew what you were going to say. Cas looked at you with big, tear-filled blue eyes.

“I cannot heal him, Y/N... It is too late,” he whispered. “His life is fading...”

“S-sammy... C-cas...” Dean choked, blood mixing with saliva and dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “I-i need to be with Y/N... a-alone... p...please...” He begged the two men. Sam’s jaw tightened and audibly cracked, eyes already red with unshed tears. He nodded stiffly before kneeling down and whispering something to his brother. He then stood up and almost ran out. Castiel simply passed Dean from his lap to yours, being as gentle as he could, as if Dean were a fragile newborn. The Angel then joined Sam outside.

“Y/N...” Dean whispered, looking up at you. The pure love and adoration in his eyes was killing you. You choked back a sob and some tears dripped onto his cheek, spattering the blood. “S-sweetheart... it’s okay...”

“N-no,” you moaned, recognizing the tone in his voice. This was it. This was his goodbye. “Dean no... baby please... I love you!”

“I... I’m so.. s-sorry...” Dean coughed, and blood speckled your shirt. You couldn’t have cared less. “This... this wasn’t... w-what I wanted...”

“We’ll bring you back!” you wailed, rocking with him. “We don’t die, remember? Winchesters don’t die!” He chuckled weakly; ever since you had joined up with the brothers a few years back, you called yourself an unofficial Winchester.

“No... not this time...” he wheezed. You could tell his lungs were filling with blood now. “N-no... coming back...”

“But Dean... Dean, I can’t live without you!”

“Have... to,” he whispered now, eyelids growing heavy. “Y/N.... it was.. i-it was you all along...” You were crying too hard to say anything to him now. “Gotta... go... I... I love...”

You waited to hear the end of the sentence. But it never came. All you could hear, were your own sobs and the rumbling of the distant thunder. Dean Winchester was gone. 

It was minutes before the realization hit you.

Hours before Castiel finally convinced you to let Sam clean Dean up, while he in turn cared for you. Then the three of you gave him a hunter’s funeral pyre.

It was days before you let yourself emerge from Dean’s room in the bunker.

Weeks before you gave in, and quit lying to yourself.

And months before you could bring yourself to face your two best friends.

You felt a searing heat at your fingertips, and realized that your cigarette had burnt out while you were reminiscing. Making a bitch face, you dropped the butt in the partially rusted Folger’s can you kept for an ash trap, then washed down the last of the whiskey. It was luke warm. You gagged at the watered down taste, and sighed. During your zoning out, the storms had reached your house, and the rain pelted against the roof and siding. It was a pleasant, and for a moment, you forgot everything.

“Mommy...” Your head snapped up immediately, and you were on your feet a split second later, rushing to the doorway. 

“Mary Jo-Ellen, are you okay? Did you have a nightmare baby?” You picked your nearly five year old daughter up and brushed her Y/H/C hair out of her striking green eyes. Little Mary rubbed her sleepy eyes, a light sprinkle of freckles standing out against her fair skin.

“Uh huh...” she whimpered. You smiled sadly and cradled her close.

“It’s okay baby. Let’s sit out here and mommy will sing you a song, okay?” She nodded as you walked back over to the porch swing and started to sway with her. She popped her thumb in her mouth (a habit you’d been having trouble breaking) and snuggled into you. Casting your gaze out to your front yard once more, you softly began singing to her.

“Gonna ramble on, sing my song... Gotta keep-a-searchin' for my baby... Gonna work my way, round the world. I can't stop this feelin' in my heart. Gotta keep searchin' for my baby. I can't find my bluebird...”


End file.
